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Tag: the harms of prostitution

by Thoughts From Jas
Posted on January 27, 2015January 27, 2015

INTERVIEW WITH GENEVIEVE GILBERT-QUACH: An insight into the prostitution industry and how to break free (Mandarin Translation)

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I can’t wait until I can start getting back to doing events and meeting all you beautiful people in person 💙✨ . . I love hearing stories from people who’ve found their own way to thrive, and what has helped them find their own #reasonstolive . . One of the hardest parts about our current situation, is that I know how desperately people need stories of hope right now. To know that they’re not alone and things will get better . . Good news is, if you or a loved one are in need of some positivity, you can still grab copies of ‘Reasons to Live’ below. All copies ordered in the next 3 months will receive a signed copy with a personalized message from me in the front 💙✨ . . Hit my bio link or visit www.jasrawlinson.com/cart

Just a beautiful pic from 2011 of my old boy, ‘Buddy.’ I got him when I was 12, and he was advertised as a ‘bomb proof pony.’ In other words, placid and easy going. WELL... that turned out to be a bit of a lie! Because within a few days of getting home, he had bucked me off hahah. I had a few falls over the years (one of which left me lying 5cm from a barbed wire fence with a dislocated hip. Oh, and if you’re wondering, I rode home, crawled up the driveway, and then my mum clicked it back into place!) 😶 . . Over the years I got way too smart for any BS from this dude. I learned to anticipate any rear, any jolt, any buck...I knew when he was going to literally jump sideways because there was a plastic bag hanging from a fence (but apparently bread bags were fine?!🙄). We had a lot of fun together ❤️ . . He’s 35 this year, and a little more grey and scrawny...but also a whole lot more snuggly than he used to be.

Across the lake, sunlight sheening against black and white quills, a magpie swoops through the air. From its darkened beak, strong as bone, it holds a worm. I think of Mum again, the way we used to sit in short, clipped grass by the Tweed River on days where we needed to get away from Dad. Just sitting and watching mother birds with their young. Magpies were her favourite; especially the babies. All fluff, with little round grey bodies. The jolly swagger of their baby feet and high pitched squawks. . . Again, I wish I could just ask her. . . I go back to skipping stones. In the momentary rhythm of their heartbeat, I listen, waiting for an answer. Wonder if Mum will come to me, give me some sort of sign. Wonder if one day I’ll find the answer to this whole ‘life’ thing; the perfect guide on how to leap without falling. . . Skip, skip, plunge. . . In the silence I sit. Just a girl, a shore of stones, and a tide of inky water. 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊 . . Just a little snippet from my #WIP . Anyone else out there love magpie babies? 🐧❤️

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